twenty
Harper Apple
When Royal’s finally done with me, I don’t think I could get up from the bed if I tried. I’m a giant pool of jelly, and when he pulls me back into the crook of his body and curls around me, I offer no resistance. He sighs, long and deep, like he’s the one who just had six orgasms in a row, and buries his nose in my hair. I’m too exhausted to think about getting up again, so far beyond contentment that I’m actually guilty for how good I feel, how much pleasure I let him give me.
I’m not someone who normally wallows in pleasure or has an easy time letting go, but I couldn’t help myself. It felt too good—he felt too good. Not just the skillful way he touches me, but the way he talks to me, the way he seems to somehow enjoy it as much as I do, like he can’t get enough, is addictive. More addictive than any drug, I think as I fall toward sleep hard and fast. Maybe this is what my mother’s really after, why she chases men and does drugs and doesn’t give a fuck about anything else. For the first time in my life, I think I really get it. I understand how chasing this high could take over your whole life, become the only thing you wanted or needed until it was all you had left.
*
I wake before Royal. Sunlight streams in the window, and I turn away, hiding my face in his chest and trying to block it out, to block out reality. In the light of day, it comes screaming toward me like a train.
I fucked Royal Dolce.
I may have gotten in at his house, but he got in me. I let him go down on me. And not just go down on me but make me cum. Afterwards, I shamelessly let him do it again and again.
I start to get up, and his arms tighten like he can’t let me go yet, even though he hasn’t opened his eyes or moved. I pry myself free and use the bathroom and freshen up, using mouthwash to get rid of the whiskey and beer breath from last night. Even as I’m doing it, I know I’m being a dumb bitch. There’s only one reason to clean up in the morning before he gets up.
So yeah, maybe I am a whore. I like sex. It feels fucking amazing, even when I don’t get off. And last night… Well, Royal’s the only guy who’s ever bothered. So if I want a little more before I go, fuck anyone who judges.
I slide back into bed and throw my leg over Royal. He may still be mostly asleep, but his cock isn’t. It throbs against my bellybutton when I slide in close, already standing straight up and proud, making my core tremble. I wrap my fingers around it, my eyes nearly rolling back in my head it feels so good. I stroke my hand over it a few times, and he gives me a slow, sleepy moan, still not bothering to open his eyes.
I remember how rough he was with me, the way he touched my face like he didn’t know who I was, the emptiness in his eyes when he turned on the light. But this isn’t a rage fuck. This is a lazy Saturday when we slept way too late after staying up until probably 4 A.M. Royal is calm now, and even though I’m sore as fuck, I’m aroused just looking at his body, every inch of it bare and beautiful and breathtaking.
I shift around on the bed, pushing him onto his back and straddling him. His eyelids flutter, and his thumb moves absently against my calf, but he doesn’t make any move to rouse himself. I grip his shaft and lift up, rubbing the head along the seam of my lips. His cock throbs, wetting my skin, and my core pulses with wetness in response.
His chin tilts back, and he lets out a deep sigh of arousal, his hands fumbling until they lazily land on my hips. I open my knees wider, letting his tip touch the swollen, wet flesh of my bruised entrance. He shifts a little but doesn’t take control, letting me sink down onto him slowly. When the pain subsides and I’ve adjusted to his size inside me, I begin to move, watching his enormous body like a mountain under mine, his impossibly broad shoulders, his olive skin and dark nipples, the muscles etched so deep in his skin they’re like their own landforms on the world of his body.
But the highlight, the most beautiful part of him that I can’t tear my eyes away from for more than a moment, is his face. It’s relaxed, peaceful, even blissful as I ride him slowly, drinking him in like it’s the last time I’ll ever see him. His jawline could cut glass. His thick, dark lashes cast shadows over the hollows under his eyes. High cheekbones frame his strong nose and full, masculine lips that gave me so much pleasure last night that I couldn’t take it anymore.
“That’s right,” he mutters as I start to move faster. “Fuck me, my little slut.”
Again, I wonder who he’s thinking about, if he’s as far away as he was last night.
“Royal,” I say, wanting to see his eyes, to know if it’s even Royal that I’m fucking.
“Hmmm?” he says, his hand giving my hip a little, encouraging squeeze.
I don’t go on, though. I lean forward and brush his dark hair from his forehead, running my fingers over his brow and cupping his cheek. “Open your eyes,” I whisper, brushing my lips over his.
Slowly, his lids lift, and I see it’s not Royal at all, just that hollow shell, the doll boy with nothing inside. It breaks my heart that he’s not here, that he can’t enjoy this.
I move slowly on top of him, keeping my eyes locked on his. My hands find either side of his face, as if I can hold him here with me, anchor him somehow. “Where are you?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. “Come back to me, Royal. Be here with me.”
For a minute, I just move on top of him, holding his face and feeling our bodies fit together, if just barely. I keep talking to him, saying his name, and after a bit, the darkness in his eyes fills up, and he’s with me, and all the heat in that dark gaze devours me in a way the emptiness never can. His hands leave my hips, and he buries them in my hair, his gaze wild and almost panicked.
After just a few seconds of him being present, right here with me, moving with me, he sits straight up, grabbing my hips and bucking his hips up under me so hard I cry out. Liquid heat bursts inside me, spreading through my core and making my walls clench with bliss despite the tenderness inside. “Ah fuck,” he groans breathlessly. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Harper. I’m a piece of shit. I can’t believe I did that.”
“It’s okay,” I say, laughing as I catch my breath. “That’s kinda what you’re supposed to do, right?”
“Yeah, but not before you,” he says, lifting me off him and slipping off the bed. “God, I’m such a fuck-up. I swear I’ve never done that before. You make me look like a fucking virgin again.”
“I mean… This isn’t porn,” I say, pulling his sheets over my lap as he paces into the bathroom. “These things happen. Sex is messy. I don’t expect you to be perfect.”
He closes the door in response. Okay, so not the fantasy I might have had when I woke up, but whatever. I’m a big girl. It’s not like I’ve never had a quickie before.
He comes out of the bathroom a minute later, his expression stormy. “Sorry I’m fucking worthless when it comes to you,” he says, grabbing his pants and jerking them on. “Get dressed. I’ll take you home.”
“Royal…”